


for you, i'll risk it all

by estrangedlestrange



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anidalaweek2020, Canon-Typical Violence, Desperate Sith Husbands, F/M, Padmé Amidala Lives, Rebel Padmé, Slow Burn, and Threepio is Threepio and always there, but Obi-Wan and Padmé have a few conversations, everyone other than Padmé and Anakin are background characters, well however slow it can be in 20000 words
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:42:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24006808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/estrangedlestrange/pseuds/estrangedlestrange
Summary: Desperate Sith HusbandsDarth Vader was certain he had killed Padmé Amidala on Mustafar, but when a rebel broadcast reveals she is alive, he will stop at nothing to free her from what he assumes is captivity. Former Senator Padmé Amidala was certain her husband had been killed on Mustafar, but after seeing Vader across the room during a mission, she is sure that she had been lied to. Knowing the truth, she seeks out her husband, either to bring him back to the light or kill him, which ever was necessary.
Relationships: Padmé Amidala & Leia Organa & Luke Skywalker, Padmé Amidala & Obi-Wan Kenobi, Padmé Amidala/Anakin Skywalker, Padmé Amidala/Anakin Skywalker | Darth Vader, Padmé Amidala/Darth Vader
Comments: 37
Kudos: 277





	for you, i'll risk it all

**Author's Note:**

> I began this fic in January of 2018 and, nearly two and a half years later, it is finally done. I am so excited to be able to share this with you all, as it has been bouncing around in the depths of my mind for so long. This is the longest fic I have ever completed and I am thrilled to publish it.

It took precisely three years, four months, one week, two days, seven hours, and twelve minutes for Darth Vader to learn the truth that his wife survived their encounter on Mustafar. It took precisely three years, four months, one week, two days, seven hours, and thirteen minutes for Darth Vader to begin an official Imperial search for Senator Padmé Amidala, held captive by the rebellion for that exact amount of time. Despite obvious signs seen by the ranks of the imperial forces that Amidala was in fact a leading member of the rebellion and not a captive, all orders to begin the search commenced immediately. Not one person was willing to speak up to the Sith Lord, the fact that Padmé Amidala was a rebel was not worth their lives.

The most obvious sign that the former Nubian senator was in fact a member of the Rebel Alliance and not a prisoner was how Darth Vader learned of her continued life. It was a propaganda video that rebel hackers were able to broadcast across seventy-three different imperial holochannels in hundreds of systems. The video also explained how the continuously growing rebellion was always able to remain steps ahead of the Empire. With the leaders of the rebellion invasively pulling Padmé’s personal knowledge of Vader’s life and way of thinking from her, they could easily manipulate the Empire. It all made sense. His wife was a prisoner, tortured to reveal Imperial secrets, and it was his duty as a husband to bring her back, so they could rule the galaxy side by side as he had always dreamed.

When Vader told this plan to his admiral, Firmus Piett, it took all of the lower ranking officer’s power not to roll his eyes. Vader’s devotion to his wife was blinding him from the truth. The truth which Piett watched for the fifth time while nursing a glass of Corellian brandy and prayed away his encroaching headache.

“People of the former Republic”, _the rebel hackers were able to force the sound through before the image and so it was just Amidala’s voice for the first moment of the recording. Then her image came across the screen. Her eyes, dark brown and shining with the righteous fury and passion that they had once seemed to always hold as she spoke to the senate_ , “I bring to you today a message of hope. The sentients of Kashyyyk, enslaved by your so-called benevolent leaders for these past three years, have been freed! These are fathers, mothers, children. Families just like yours who since the dawn of these dark days under the Empire have been brutally treated, forced to slave labor, simply for not being human. There are tens of thousands of sentient species in this galaxy and if the Empire has its way, all but the humans will be enslaved like the Wookies were until today. But look,” _The footage cut there, leaving the image of Amidala with her hair worn in an intricate bunned style typical of the Nubians, and her bright white clothing so opposing the dark shades of Imperial uniform behind, and instead showing a montage of Wookie families reuniting. The joy was palpable, the hugs they were giving to the rebellion fighters, humans, Wookies, and other beings alike. It was a real happiness, the type that parents feel when first holding their child, or lovers feel when they first wed, the type of happiness that had not been truly felt on any of the Core planets since the first day of the Empire_ , “Look at what is still possible.”

 _The footage returned to Amidala, her head held higher now, the emotions in her eyes still angry but also optimistic_ , “I once served in the Republic Senate and four years ago the brutal slavery of the Wookies, of other sentients, would never have been allowed. But the senate is no more. Those serving for you are merely puppets, bowing at the whim of a heartless Sith Lord. Palpatine’s goals are to enslave you all. Not everyone with hard labor like the Wookies, but everyone without freedom. The freedom that was once guaranteed and protected for each and every sentient in the Galaxy. But as I said,” _For a moment it looked like tears were welling in the corner of her eyes, but then with a slight twitch of her lips, she pulled in her emotions. She centered herself. And as regal as ever, Amidala finished her speech_ , “This is a message of hope. Because despite what Palpatine wants, what _Vader_ wants,” _She said the Supreme Commander’s name with such venom it was as if the second in command was more at fault for the galaxy’s suffering than the Emperor himself_ , “We stand for you. We fight for you. We, the Alliance to Restore the Republic, will protect you. On any planet where a sentient suffers at the hands of the Empire, be it the Wookies, the Twi’leks, humans, or other, we will be there. This dark day is like any other. It will pass. A new dawn is coming. Remember that.” _Just as the image came through after the sound, it faded before Amidala was finished speaking. Moments after her image faded her voice could be heard, recalling the days of the Jedi_ , “May the Force be with you all.”

The truth was, despite how much Vader denied it, Padmé Amidala was the leader of the Rebel Alliance.

* * *

It took precisely three years, nine months, three weeks, four days, sixteen hours, and twenty-three minutes for Padmé to see her husband after what she thought was the worst day of her life surrounded by the oppressive heat of Mustafar and the feeling of his fist closing around her throat. He stood across the room, dark as a shadow and still as a statue. If she hadn’t known who he was under the armor and mask, she wouldn't have believed him to be a living thing, let alone a man. But she did know what was beneath, far deeper than below the armor, she knew what was in his heart, which was her. Hidden by an intricate golden mask, shaped like a krayt dragon, Padmé glowered. The intel had been wrong. Rebel spies within the senate had placed in codes that forwarded certain information to the Alliance’s databases. A recent message, an announcement of a celebration in honor of Grand Moff Tarkin, had led Padmé back to Coruscant, or rather Imperial Center. Intel said that Darth Vader, who was known to hate Tarkin and his scheming ways, would not be in attendance, which was why Padmé was the agent sent. Her mission was simple, to dispose of Tarkin, reveal her identity, and then escape.

Except, Darth Vader being there made nothing simple. From behind her mask, Padmé studied the looming form of her estranged husband. He had never liked parties, often joking with her about which fork was the right one to off himself with. Padmé couldn’t imagine that he liked festivities anymore as a Dark Lord of the Sith. Did Sith enjoy anything other than terror? Padmé did not know and had no interest in getting near enough to ask. With his face hidden by a mask, Padmé had no way to read him, although, after their last encounter she wasn’t sure if she knew him well enough to have that skill. But her face was hidden, too, due to Tarkin’s proclivity towards the elaborate and the masquerade theme of the night. It was possible, Padmé mused, that the theme was picked specifically to upset Vader. She wouldn’t put that past Tarkin or past her husband for attending out of spite.

The skull-like mask Vader always wore moved as he surveyed the crowd, making Padmé thankful for her golden adornment. But when Vader’s vision fell on her, he froze. It was hard to tell due to his full body armor, but Padmé saw the tensing in his muscles, or mechanics as they were, and his back straighten. Padmé felt her throat tighten, not by the Force but by her own fear. Somehow, he had recognized her. Hissing about bad intel, Padmé murmured so that her earpiece, which fed to her escape team, that the plan had changed. Quickly, Padmé started swerving through the crowd, hoping the shock would keep Vader in his spot for a few more seconds. She spotted Tarkin easily, he was near the center of the room, the only one without a mask, and smiling in that pleased, egotistical way. There had been a plan, a declaration that Padmé would exclaim as she struck Tarkin down in the midst of his celebratory speech. That plan was gone.

Instead, Padmé surged forward, aware of the fact that Vader was moving from his spot in the corner, pushing the frivolous party goers out of his way as he moved towards her, much faster than seemed natural due to his limitations. In a single fluid movement Padmé ripped off her mask, sending it flying across the room, as, with her other hand, she unstrapped the lightsaber from where it was secured against her leg, ignited it, and cut Tarkin in two. There were horrified screams immediately as people began to flee, terrified of the Jedi, then, when they recognized her, of the righteous senator. The panicked flood of people slowed Vader enough that he was unable to reach her.

Amidst the screams she heard a shattered cry of “Padmé!” She spared her husband a final glance, seeing his gloved hand raised and reaching out to her, not in anger but in a plea for her to return to him, she shuddered. Turning her back on Vader, lightsaber still in her hand, Padmé charged across the room, easily dodging people in a way the Sith Lord could not. With two quick slashes of her plasma blade the glass of the window was gone. The last thing from the party Padmé heard was Vader’s strangled cry of “No!” As she flung herself from the window. Where, unbeknownst to him, her partners were waiting in the speeder for a quick escape. She landed in the backseat, tumbling to the ground, and as they sped away, she caught one last glimpse of Vader, standing in the open window, watching her escape.

* * *

Three stormtroopers lay on the ground near Vader, their deaths nothing more than an outlet for his rage. She was _there_. He saw her. She was so close he could have touched her. If he had only been a little faster, he could have saved her. What had the rebels done to her, Vader had to wonder, that made her turn from him. Why did she run when he was right there, when he could have saved her? There had to be something they were holding over her, some type of leverage that they had to manipulate her into treasonous acts against the Empire. For Force’s sake, Vader just could not understand. On top of the confusion of _why_ , Vader had to wonder about Padmé’s weapon of choice. She had always favored the sleek royal blaster pistol, occasionally using a stronger standard issue blaster. But at the party when she disposed of Tarkin she used a lightsaber. It wasn’t any lightsaber either, it was his — no, he was Darth Vader — it was _Skywalker’s_. Was that why she was with the rebels? Did she believe her husband to be dead? But he was right there. He saw the way she looked at him. She had to know who he was. Did she not realize Skywalker was weak? That he had destroyed Skywalker for her? That together, Vader and Amidala, could make all her dreams of a better galaxy come through? What could possibly be making Padmé act so illogically?

Vader froze. Of course. It had been nearly five months since he learned of his wife’s survival and not once had he let himself think of _her_. Not Padmé, he thought of his wife constantly, but their child. Their unborn daughter, for he knew the baby had to have been a girl. After Padmé’s supposed death, Vader had accepted the loss of his child, but he hadn’t let himself consider, once learning Padmé still lived, that their offspring had lived, too. Was the rebellion holding their child? Using Skywalker’s — no, his, Vader’s — daughter against Padmé? Was that why she wouldn’t come with him to safety? Did their child live? Vader couldn’t bear to think it, which was why he had never considered it. The thought of their child, born of their love and commitment, grew up away from him, probably lied to about him by the rebel scum, fed his anger.

He would free them both, Vader vowed. And together they would destroy the rebellion and the Emperor. They would rule the galaxy the way he had planned from the moment Skywalker died, as a family.

* * *

Returning from a mission, it always felt as if the entire galaxy was releasing a sigh. She was safe. She made it back to them. Padmé would have little time to sigh, though, for as soon as her transport, whatever it was for the day, landed, two seemingly unstoppable forces would barrel into her. It was those two who made her return so satisfying, though. The twins. Luke and Leia. The brightest two stars in her galaxy of darkness. As soon as she spotted them weaving through the crowds on the flight deck, Padmé would drop to her knees and open her arms wide, ready to pull her children into a tight hug. Recently, Leia seemed to always reach Padmé first. Luke had fallen into the habit of slowing down halfway to his mother’s waiting embrace distracted by something interesting happening on the flight deck, like a starfighter being prepped or a pilot walking by in her bright orange jumpsuit. The twins were only allowed in the hanger when Padmé was leaving or returning from a mission so her curious little boy was beginning to take advantage of the excitement when he was there. He would always realize quickly that Leia was already in Padmé’s arms and would then run the rest of the way, already arguing that whatever Leia was telling her wasn’t true, that it wasn’t his fault. Their squabbles would be forgotten, though. Padmé would press kisses to the top of their heads before ushering them away from the starships, ruffling Luke’s hair when his step slowed to look up at the engine of an A-Wing as they walked past.

While Padmé wanted nothing more to return to her rooms and curl up in bed with the twins, she had to give her mission report first. As they entered the base Padmé once more charged Threepio and the closest cadet with watching the twins before heading into the command center. Most of the Alliance leaders were absent, now that they had presented themselves to the Empire as a formidable enemy it was too dangerous to all gather on one base. Better to not keep all their Endorian chicken eggs in one basket, as Obi-Wan liked to say.

“Dodonna,” Padmé greeted with a warm smile as she entered the center.

The general shook her hand with a tight grasp, “Glad to see you back in one piece, Senator,” Padmé sighed, ready to remind her ally that she hadn’t been a senator for nearly four years but he caught himself, “Padmé,” He corrected, “Reports came through that there was a bit of trouble.”

Padmé nodded, “I’ll explain once we’re all gathered,” before moving to greet Obi-Wan who sat a few feet away along the curve of the console. Obi-Wan nodded at her, a tight smile, that Padmé could tell was forced, on his lips. He asked after her encounter with Darth Vader, but she shook her head. The two of them would have that particular conversation after the meeting was over. Padmé took her seat beside the disgraced Jedi as holo projections of the other Alliance leaders sprung up around the consol. Beside Padmé the image of Bail Organa appeared, a little farther down was Mon Mothma. A new delegate to the Alliance, Gial Ackbar, who was recommended personally by Meena Tills, the former Mon Cala senator, also manifested. Again, for safety, there were a number of Alliance leaders who were not transmitted in. Should, Force forbid, the Empire intercept their signals, they never had every leader in on a call. The final representative present for Padmé’s mission report was not visible, the appearance of her logo was the only sign Fulcrum was present.

No greetings were exchanged once all the transmissions came through, there was no time. Every call was kept short. “Grand Moff Tarkin, the executor of Project Stardust, has been disposed of,” Padmé said, easily adopting the deeper voice she always used for politics, “However, due to complications, the message that was planned to be delivered upon his removal has not been shared. I was unable to make the declaration about the nefarious goals of Project Stardust. We need a new plan to spread our message because, right now, the galaxy thinks we killed Tarkin in cold blood. Unless we reveal what Project Stardust is, the Emperor will just assign a new blood sucker to lead the project. However, as we all know, it is near impossible to intercept the holochannels, as digital security has been heightened. We need ideas, and we need them now.”

After a plan of action was formed on how to spread to the public that Tarkin had been building a superstation with the capability to obliterate planets, Padmé called everyone’s attention back to her. “I have a mission planned,” Padmé said slowly, “Just for myself. It won’t work if there is anyone else involved. I can’t tell you all what it is and I’m sorry for that. I don’t know how long I’ll be out of contact but when you hear from me again, Darth Vader will be gone.” There were exclamations of shock and confusion from the other members of the Alliance but Padmé ignored them, she had already risen from her seat and hurried from the room. Behind her, Obi-Wan told Dodonna to finish the meeting and that he would talk to Padmé as he too left the room.

“Padmé! You can’t face Darth Vader on your own!” Obi-Wan called after her.

He caught up to her quickly and grabbed her wrist to halt her quick strides through the base. Padmé spun toward him, her mouth tight and her eyes narrowed. “Do you take me for a simpleton?”

“Of course not,” Obi-Wan replied and Padmé was sure, if not for his Jedi training and elite negotiation skills, he would have stammered, “I have a great deal of respect for you.”

Wrenching her arm out of Obi-Wan’s hand, Padmé asked, “Then why, Obi-Wan, did you think I wouldn’t come to realize who Darth Vader really is?”

She was almost sure she saw him gulp in worry, but it could have been her imagination, her desire to see him shaken. “How long have you known?”

“I’ve suspected since the day you told me he died. I wasn’t sure, not entirely, until two days ago, at Tarkin’s party. I couldn’t see his eyes, but I knew he wasn’t looking at me the way Darth Vader is supposed to look at a rebel. I just _knew_. His voice is different, everything about him is different, but when I heard him call my name, I knew without a doubt that that was Anakin. Why didn’t you tell me?”

Obi-Wan sighed and raised one hand to his beard, a familiar gesture that he did whenever he was thinking, stalling in a negotiation, or regretful, “You have to understand—”

Angrily, Padmé cut off his words, “I don’t have to do anything.”

Another sigh and Obi-Wan began again, “It was to protect you. To protect the younglings, Vader—”

“Anakin,” She corrected, “This isn’t two separate people, Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan complied, “Anakin had just led a genocide, he personally wiped out classes of Jedi younglings, children he had helped care for at times. I had to protect the twins, Padmé, their strength in the Force is unprecedented. If Vader,” He paused and, with a warning look from Padmé changed his wording, “If _Anakin_ found out about the twins, he would have killed them. Or worse, he would have handed them over to the Emperor, twist them into dark creatures like he himself had become.”

"So what,” Padmé asked, putting her hands on her hips and glaring down the Jedi, “Because Anakin couldn’t know about the twins, I couldn’t know the truth? That’s bantha fodder. You didn’t tell me because you didn’t want to face what had happened. It was easier to pretend, wasn’t it? Easier to pretend that you had killed your best friend than to acknowledge what he’s become, what you helped turn him into.”

“Anakin is dead!” Obi-Wan snapped, “Once he became Darth Vader there was no coming back! I knew you wouldn’t understand that, so I had to keep you apart!”

Padmé pulled in a deep breath at his outburst. With the grace she carried as a queen, Padmé straightened up. She raised her chin ever so slightly and arched her back just enough so that she stood as tall as her frame allowed. “Anakin is not dead. He’s alive and he’s a monster but I still believe what I said after Mustafar. There’s still good in him. I intend to bring that good man back to me.” She didn’t wait for a response from Obi-Wan before turning and resuming her long strides down the hall.

There was little preparation for Padmé’s mission. It was simple to find the location of the Executor and that was all she needed. Not that anybody else knew her plan, exactly. All she was going to do was fly to Darth Vader’s Command ship and surrender herself. If Obi-Wan was right and Anakin was truly gone within that suit it would be suicide. But Padmé felt she needed to take the risk.

Padmé wanted to stay with the twins. She wanted to desperately. But she knew if she stayed, even for a day, Obi-Wan would find a way to stop her. She couldn’t let that happen. Saying goodbye to the twins was a challenge. They were both crying, begging her to stay. After many tears, hugs, and kisses, Padmé managed to get the twins to promise to be good for Threepio, Obi-Wan, and Dodonna, to listen to what the cadets tell them. Luke also had to pinkie promise not to sneak onto the flight deck again or he would have the longest time-out of his life, Padmé warned. Pressing two fierce kisses to the top of their heads, Padmé left. Tears in her own eyes, worried she wouldn’t see her babies again, terrified what could happen when she did.

* * *

It was precisely three years, ten months, zero weeks, two days, nineteen hours, and thirty-three minutes after being told his wife was dead that Darth Vader spoke to her again. After all his planning, all his meticulous calculations, all the waring thoughts on how best to free his wife from the Rebel Alliance, she had come to him. He had been on the bridge when she transmitted her request to dock in one of the Executor’s docking bays. An unknown craft registered on their radar and the bridge was preparing to fire when her voice came through so clearly, “This is Padmé Amidala of the Alliance to Restore the Republic requesting to dock in any available landing bay.” If it wasn’t for his regulator, Vader was sure he would have stopped breathing at the sound of Padmé’s voice, “Do not shoot. This is a peaceful surrender to Darth Vader.”

Immediately, Vader sprang into action. Permission was granted for landing in bay one. The Sith Lord strode through the halls of his flagship, shouting orders. His rooms, which were never used aside from his time in the hyperbaric chambers, were to be prepared for a guest. He ordered two squads of troopers to flank him and an entire platoon to greet Padmé, an impressive depiction of his strength so Padmé would know the rebels could no longer harm her. No weapons were to be raised against the rebel leader, with penalty death should a trooper disobey.

When Vader reached the landing bay, he felt his regulator force breath through his lungs again, preventing the hitch that would have been natural as he gasped at the sight of his wife. The last time he had seen her, not on Mustafar when he had believed she had perished by his outstretched hand but the night of Tarkin’s ball, Vader had not the time to study her. But as he approached her, Vader took the time to drink her in. Little had changed, her hair was shorter, falling in the same curls just along her shoulders. It was usually only down in his company, so it was odder seeing it loose around others than the short length. Instead of the beautiful gowns she had worn so often on Coruscant, Padmé was wearing a flight suit, similar to what she wore on her diplomatic missions that had the likelihood of devolving into aggressive negotiations. The suit was grey and she wore a maroon vest on top, pinned to the lapel was a small brooch of the Alliance Starbird and clipped against her hip was Skywalker’s lightsaber.

Padmé’s wrists were restrained, on either side of her stood a trooper, their gloved hands wrapped firmly around her upper arms. She didn’t struggle against their tight grasp, despite it being strong enough to bruise. Vader took note of their identification numbers, both would be punished if she was handled to roughly. A righteous fire burned in Padmé’s eyes, a familiar twinkle that he had seen so often when she argued in the senate. Her back was straight and her chin tilted up, defiance covered her features. Never had her rage been directed at him the way it was in that moment, as if he was the opposition, the one who stood in the way of her protecting the galaxy as she had always tried.

“Lord Vader,” Padmé said, her eyes bore into his, as if there was no mask separating them, “If this,” She flexed her arms to gesture that she was talking about her treatment and the troops around her, “Is how the Empire detains peaceful surrenders I would I hate to see the treatment of prisoners of war. Although, having spent time with the Wookies, I know that it is policy to treat citizens as slaves, so there is little surprise.”

Words failed Vader. For the first time since he annihilated all traces of Skywalker from within him, Vader was nervous. He was unsure what to say. Did she know who he was? If she did, why was she not addressing him as such. He opened his mouth, her name on his lips, but was unable to finish the word. He felt like he was choking on nothing, his emotions tightening his throat. She was there. Alive. Right in front of him. Slowly, he reached a hand out towards her, wanting to caress her cheek the way he used to. She didn’t flinch, but she did raise her chin, a clear sign that should he touch her, he would suffer. Vader withdrew his hand quickly, as if burnt by her anger.

“But I suppose it is good policy to keep even the most peaceful adversary well-guarded,” Padmé continued after a pause long enough to make the surrounding troopers uncomfortable, “One can never be sure when diplomatic solutions can devolve into aggressive negotiations.” Despite the anger radiating off of her, the twinkle in her eye told Vader all he needed to know. She knew who he was below the mask.

Barking at the troops to leave, Vader wrapped one large, gloved hand around Padmé’s upper arm, pushing the troopers holding her away with the Force. They needed to be alone. Skywalker had once towered over Padmé, Vader more so than his previous self. The advantage of his height made his strides long and Padmé, held close to his side, had to nearly jog to keep up.

* * *

The first thing Vader said directly to Padmé shocked her. Behind them, the door to his lavish quarters had just silently slid shut. “How did you escape?” He asked. His voice was different, she already knew that of course, but knowing and experiencing in person were vastly different things.

She wondered if he meant the question to sound like a demand or if his vocal modulator simply forced everything to sound so harsh. Instead of asking that, she replied, with wide eyes, “Escape?” She had no idea what he meant. Did he mean from Mustafar? From the Jedi he claimed were treasonous?

"From the Rebel Alliance,” Vader replied, staring down at her, “The scum that has held you captive for these past four years.”

A jolt of anger shot through Padmé. “That’s what you think?” Padmé shrugged his arm off of her and took a few steps deeper into the lavish room, “That I was a prisoner to the Rebellion?”

"You know who I am.” He simply replied.

“And how does that make me a captive?” She asked sitting down on one of the large leather couches in the center of the room.

“You are my wife. There would be no other reason for you to be a member of the Rebellion but if you were captive. That is the only thing that would keep you from me.”

Padmé narrowed her eyes, “The only thing that kept me from you,” She paused for a split second before saying his name, “ _Anakin_ , was that I thought you were dead. That isn’t why I am a member of the Alliance. I _founded_ the Alliance. I am a leader of the Alliance.”

“I, too, believed you to be dead,” Vader replied. Then silence, aside from the heavy mechanical breathing that seemed to count the seconds, fell between the two of them. It seemed to Padmé as if Vader was again at a loss for words. “You were right,” He said slowly, “Anakin Skywalker is dead. I killed him. He was weak and a fool, he could not save you. But I can save you, from the Rebellion, from death, from anything that wishes you harm.”

“If Anakin Skywalker is dead, then you are not my husband,” Padmé replied, emotions tightening her throat.

Vader approached her and Padmé was sure he was glowering beneath his mask, “You know that to be false.” He raised his hand as he approached, wagging a finger as if reprimanding a child, but Padmé recoiled. She didn’t mean to, but it was reflex, her body remembering Mustafar. Watching her body language, Vader froze. Without another word, he spun on the heel of his boot and, with his cape billowing out behind him, fled the room. Sinking deeper into the couch, Padmé let out a sigh, both of relief and exhaustion. Part of her was sure she had made a mistake coming to the Executor, but after that short, confusing interaction with him, more of her was sure that good still remained. If he still loved her, which he clearly did, the darkness hadn’t fully taken him. She was going to bring him back.

* * *

He came to her mere minutes after leaving, his head hung low. The door slid open, but he didn’t enter the room, remaining in the doorway. “What happened to our child?” Vader, Anakin, asked.

“Dead,” Padmé lied, her heart thundering, “Stillborn from oxygen deprivation.” Until she was sure he was more Anakin than Sith, Padmé could not tell the truth. Putting herself in danger was one thing, but risking the twins was entirely different. They had to remain a secret. “It was a boy. I called him Luke.” Tears threatened to spill from Padmé’s eyes, not because of a lost child like Vader must have assumed, but because she was missing said child. She had been so quick coming to the Executor she hadn’t taken the time to think enough about the twins. There was the very real possibility, should she fail, that she would never see Luke or Leia again.

Vader didn’t respond. Again, he left the room. Padmé watched the door, for a moment expecting the dark form of her husband to reappear, but he did not. Some of his mannerisms, like reappearing in the doorway to ask a single question and the way he hung his helmeted head, were so similar to those he had as Anakin that Padmé’s heart ached. She had missed him so desperately, but nothing was the same. She couldn’t trust him, not yet. He wasn’t even really himself. In her mind she kept struggling on what to call him, Anakin or Vader, Vader or Anakin. They were interchangeable, the same person, yet entirely different as well. Alone again, Padmé took a breath. Her eyes fell to the nearby chrono and nearly gasped. Their conversations had seemed so short, yet it was hours later than she had thought it was. Late as it was into the programmed time on the ship, Padmé rose from the couch. She had been so consumed by her interactions with Vader, that she had not taken the time to look at the quarters she was being kept in.

The room was large, but mostly empty. In the center there were three large sectional couches that formed a circle, where she had been sitting. Inside that circle there was a coffee table that, upon closer inspection, had a console built in for access to the holo. Aside from the door to the hallway, there were five other doors, two on one side of the room, three on the other, with the back wall being a long viewport, which at the moment stared out into the unmoving stars around them.

Going towards one side, Padmé opened the door. The first was an elaborate dining room, there was a long table in the center, and a well-stocked bar to the side. Closing the door, she went over to the next. The room was empty beside a large pod, medical, Padmé could only assume, but she had no idea for what use. Obi-Wan had explained how serious Anakin’s injuries were but there was no reason he would need such care. Replacement organs were easy to grow and the surgery was safe. Why, Padmé wondered for the first time, was Anakin in the suit? Shaking the thoughts from her head, Padmé closed that door as well. Worrying about her husband’s health would have to come later. The last room on that side was an office, large but as equally empty as the sitting room, just the desk and chair. Like the main room, there was a viewport making up the entire wall.

The first door on the other side led to a guest bath. It was the final room that took Padmé by surprise. It was a bedroom, which unlike the other rooms that had dark black decor, the coloring was soft. The bedspread was a deep blue, not too bright, but similar to the lake water on Naboo just when the sun was setting. The carpet below her feet was a shining silver, but unlike the aggressive military look of the metal elsewhere on the ship, it was calming. The bedroom had the same large viewport that spanned the length of the apartment, a large private bathroom, and a massive closet, entirely filled with capes for Darth Vader and, surprising Padmé once more, gowns, suits, shoes, and anything else she could desire, all in her size. It seemed her husband had been planning for her to join him. A burst of warmth spread through Padmé. Despite it all, he still loved her and, despite even more, she still loved him.

Satisfied in her exploration of her quarters, Padmé grabbed a robe from the closet, no reason not to take advantage of what was offered. The hot spray of the shower was a welcome relief, soothing her muscles and letting her forget everything for a moment. When she turned, looking for soaps, she once more felt deep affection for her husband. Lined up against the back shelf of the shower were all the products she had used on Coruscant. Smiling to herself, Padmé finished her shower, wrapped herself in the long, navy blue robe, combed out her hair, and returned to the bedroom. She stood there, staring out into the endlessness of the galaxy, holding herself tightly, and wondering what was going to happen next.

* * *

His heart was hammering against his chest as if desperate to break free. There was nothing he wanted more in that moment than to be able to silent his infernal breathing regulator. He wanted quiet. He wanted to be able to think. But he couldn’t think. Her words were haunting him the way she used to, the way his Master telling him she had died used to rattle around in his head on a constant loop. _Then you are not my husband_. Which was true. Padmé Amidala had married Anakin Skywalker in the presence of a Nubian holy man and two loyal droids. She had been Anakin Skywalker’s wife, sneaking away with him, fighting for him and with him, and loving him. Darth Vader did not fit into that picture. _If Anakin Skywalker is dead_ then and only then is he Darth Vader. Skywalker had been dead for nearly four years. Defeated by his easily exploited weakness of love and caring, but if Vader held those feelings for Padmé, his wife, then was he not Skywalker? And therefore Skywalker was alive? These spiraling thoughts were tearing through his mind at warp speeds, causing an ache deep in his chest that reminded him of regret, something he hadn’t felt since he was Skywalker.

On top of it all, their child, because whether or not he was Skywalker did not change the fact that the baby was theirs, his, was dead. Killed, no doubt, by his hand. He had spent years believing just that, but it seemed worse now. Padmé had lived, that was all he had ever wanted, but losing his child in the process had never crossed his mind. She had spent nearly four years mourning their son. A son! He had always been so sure it was a girl. But either way, the loss remained, he had choked Padmé and the baby had died because of his actions. Regret once more bubbled within him and Vader almost sneered. It was not a particularly pleasant emotion.

After hours of striding through his flagship, unintentionally terrifying every person who passed his way, Anakin — Vader returned to his quarters, feeling like he was being torn apart from the inside. When he first entered the main rooms, Vader’s heart nearly stopped. She wasn’t there. Had the Rebellion taken her again? Had she run away? Had he imagined her all together? But then he noticed the door to the bedroom wasn’t slid fully shut. It was left slightly ajar, inviting him forward. Reaching out with the Force, Vader felt her cool, calming presence, just in the room over. Panic subsiding, he would have let out a sigh of relief if he was physically capable. She was still there; he hadn’t lost her.

She was standing before the viewport, draped in one of the lavish robes he had specially ordered for her. Her arms were wrapped around herself, grasping her elbows, as if holding herself together. Reflected in the glass was a haunted look in her eye and, if Vader didn’t know any better, he would have assumed she was the ghost of his wife that he had dreamed of so often. His breathing regulator made it impossible for his entrance to be quiet, yet Padmé did not turn to him. The silence in the room felt heavy in a way it never did before… everything. Quiet between them once was a comfort, a bubble of safety where words weren’t needed and they understood each other completely. But that time was long past.

“Hypothetically, what would you say to him,” Vader asked, his words measured, “If you were right and Anakin Skywalker does indeed live?”

Padmé didn’t turn to face him, instead she pressed her cheek against her shoulder, able to see him, but keep her body angled towards the window, “I would tell him that I love him. That I forgive him. That there’s good in him and that we can fix all of this.”

Weren’t those the words Vader had longed for since their last encounter? To hear her confess her love, which, after years of reflection, he knew to be true. He had overreacted on Mustafar at the sight of Obi-Wan. There was no reason, aside from the manipulations of Sidious, for him to believe Padmé had a relationship with his former Master and that split-second thought caused them both so much pain. How he had yearned to hear her forgiveness, though he did not believe he deserved it. He had hurt her, destroyed the good in the galaxy she had built, and killed their son. Yet, she stood before him and forgave him for it all. Through the Force, Vader could sense the truth in her words. There was no resentment, just heartache. She truly had forgiven him, whether he deserved it was irrelevant.

“And what would you say,” Vader asked in the same manner, “If you were wrong. If Skywalker is dead and there only is Darth Vader.”

“I wouldn’t say anything.” Padmé said, turning to him. Vader caught sight of tears pooling in her eyes and his heart clenched. Would he ever stop causing her pain? “Because if it was only me and Darth Vader, one of us would be dead. Execution. That is how the Empire deals with rebels, is it not? It would be either him or me, and I have no plans to die.” Vader flinched at her tone, for he knew she told the truth. If any other rebel leader had requested to dock with the Executor, they would have been blown out of the sky. Perhaps they would have been allowed to dock, but only so they could be interrogated and, once all usable information was extracted, disposed of. Darth Vader was ruthless, he had tortured countless rebels and former Jedi, killed children and families with no discrimination, annihilated entire planets, but refused to cause harm to one of the founders of the Rebel Alliance. Standing before Padmé, it was impossible to not be, at least partially, Anakin Skywalker. For while Darth Vader would hurt her without hesitation, Skywalker would never let her be harmed again.

“You can’t have it both ways, Anakin,” Padmé said softly, once more turning her gaze to the stars. “I remember a little boy who wanted to see them all,” Padmé continued, almost to herself, “I can’t imagine what he would think to know he would become the thing that destroys them.”

Vader, or maybe Anakin, he wasn’t sure anymore, recoiled at her words. She was right, of course. It seemed as if she always was. He stood for a few more cycles of his breathing, waiting for her to say more, but she didn’t. When he finally turned to leave the room, he was sure he heard a sob.

* * *

There was the unspoken question of “what’s next” hanging between them. It had two weeks since Padmé had surrendered herself and since then, all of their interactions had been fleeting. Restricted to the quarters, with troopers standing guard outside the door, Padmé’s days aboard the Executor were empty. Yes, she was capable of disarming the guards and escaping through the ship, but then what? She had chosen to go to Vader. She had surrendered herself to him, if that meant hours alone in his lavish quarters as he continued terrorizing the galaxy, there was little she was willing to do at the moment. The only interruption to her solitude came at night, when Vader returned to the quarters for his hyperbaric chambers. He would come to her rooms and ask her a question, usually similar to that of the first night, when he was trying to discern who he was and who she saw him as. She had come to realize that her presence unnerved Vader. Just being there made him face his past as Anakin, something he had been avoiding for years, and caused a constant conflict within him. She would answer his questions and then, after a long pause, during which Padmé could only assume Vader was processing what she had said, he would leave the room, without so much as a good night. He never came to her in the mornings and for that Padmé was thankful.

It was tearing her apart, being near her husband but thinking of him as Vader, not Anakin. Aside from her continued survival, there was no evidence that the good she believed to remain was really within him. Day by day, his questions would slowly move away from the hypothetical, as if he was coming to terms with being Anakin more than Vader.

The only night Vader did not come speak to her was the tenth night aboard the Executor, marking a full two weeks reunited. Padmé had risen from the bed and gone to the viewport when she heard the door to the quarters open, taking up the position gazing out into the same stars as every night before, as the ship had yet to move, but the door to the bedroom never slid open. She waited, holding her breath, a little fearful about the change in the routine. Had something happened? After a few tense minutes passed, Padmé slipped from the bedchamber, a silk robe tied tight around her. The sitting room was empty when Padmé entered, as was the office. Her gaze fell to the door of the hyperbaric chamber, after her first day there, Vader had made it clear that it was the one room she was not allowed. But he was in there, at that moment, he had to be, and Padmé felt drawn to the door, needing to know why he didn’t come speak to her.

The door slid open silently and Padmé stopped it from opening all the way, grabbing it by the edge. She just needed enough space to peek through, anymore and he could notice, he could grow angry. Their conversations had turned heated a few times since she came aboard and he always fled quickly when the words became too aggressive, so Padmé was nervous about what would happen if she truly angered him. Would spying on him in the hyperbaric chamber be what it took for him to hurt her once more? Or was Anakin strong enough within him to stop his hand from being raised? Padmé didn’t know what the answer was and didn’t want to find out.

Peeking through the crack of the door, Padmé saw the hyperbaric chamber open. Vader was in the room, his back to her, and he was kneeling. His helmet was titled down as he listened to the man from the holocall give him orders. The Emperor. Her heart started pounding just at the sight of the projection. He was a vile man, the epitome of evil, he destroyed the galaxy, the Republic, and Anakin, and there was nothing more Padmé would like than to destroy him. Feeling nauseous, Padmé turned to leave, when she heard the scratching voice of Palpatine, her once mentor, ask Vader, “And what of the Rebels?”

“We are doing everything we can, my Master. They appear small in numbers but well organized. We have been unable to find any of their leaders for capture. The few bases we have founded have already been abandoned by the time of discovery. We do not yet know how much they know about Project Stardust.”

“They know too much!” Palpatine replied, the anger in his voice sounded more like that of a demon than any species of sentient. He quickly calmed himself, his voice returning to the hoarse tone that he used to appear more infirm, a tool that had caused many to underestimate him, “After all, Tarkin would not have been targeted had they known nothing. They must be stopped, Lord Vader. Work quickly, or there will be consequences.”

“Of course, my Master.”

There was a flex in Vader’s torso, as if he was preparing to stand, but since the holo was still on he did not move. If his limbs were of flesh and blood and not durasteel, Padmé suspected she would have seen the same flexing in his muscles. It was clear he had thought that call was over, yet Palpatine had not hung up. “One last thing, my apprentice,” The Emperor said, “Should Skywalker’s wife be found, I expect your immediate response. You do remember your task, do you not?”

Vader nodded, “Extermination, my Master.”

“Good.”

Padmé shot a hand up to her mouth to cover it, muffling the sound of her gasp. She quickly slid the door shut behind her. Pressing her back against the cool metal, she too then slid, lowering herself to the ground. He was twisted, yes, and clearly aware of the battle station plans that she had assassinated Tarkin over, but somewhere within the suit of armor more of Anakin remained than she had previously realized. The Emperor didn’t know that Vader had her. Her husband had kept that secret from his Master. The Emperor wanted her dead, but Vader did not kill her. Disobedience. That had always been one of Anakin’s more prominent traits, one that up until that moment, Padmé was sure Vader had lacked. But he had lied to and deceived the most powerful Sith Lord the galaxy had seen in a thousand years to protect her. Closing her eyes, Padmé swore to herself that she would, in turn, do everything she could to protect her husband, Anakin, even if he needed to be protected from himself.

* * *

Something had shifted in their relationship and Vader did not know why. The previous status quo, of their only exchanges being at night and very terse, had changed. Conversation between the two of them was still stunted and often led to uncomfortable silences or abrupt ends, but they were more frequent. Padmé, it seemed, was no longer content to remain secluded in the bedroom. She was out and about the quarters, joining Vader in whichever room he was in, sometimes idly talking, sometimes sitting quietly, swiping through a holobook. The only time he was in the quarters and she wasn’t near was in his hyperbaric chamber. She seemed happier, too, although Vader could not fathom why. Nothing about their situation had changed, three weeks in and he was still unsure whether he still _was_ Vader. Padmé was still a rebel, which he loathed to admit, and he was still the Supreme Commander, the fist of the Empire.

Vader found a great deal of time to think about the shift of dynamics between himself and his wife, as his current directive from his Master was still to hunt down the Rebel fleet. Scout ships filled to the brim with storm troopers would go to any planet within range that a probe had found reasonable evidence of rebel activity. There were many abandoned bases found, but no rebels.

"They’re decoy bases,” Padmé said to him one morning, not looking up from her holopad, “We set them up in systems that we know the Empire would look for us, planted with false information.” He had been walking past her, prepared to leave the private quarters for the day when her hand had idly shot out to grab his wrist as she spoke. It was a gentle touch, an intimate gesture that they used to exchange when they were alone. A brush of the fingertips to capture attention and express affection.

The contact shook him to the core, more so than her words, and all he managed to stutter out was “Is that so?” Hoping she couldn’t hear how off balance her holding his forearm was.

“Mmhm,” She replied, not looking up, “Thought you should know, seeing as you're putting in all this effort.”

He didn’t reply, simply pulled his arm away from her touch, as if burnt, and left the room. He didn’t know what to do with the information. He couldn’t act on it, halting the search for Rebels or changing systems would alert his Master to the fact that all was not as it seemed. It could endanger Padmé, which was something he could never allow. So, knowing that it was a waste of Imperial resources, Vader went to the bridge and ordered the search to continue, feeling both a phantom tingle in his artificial limb, as if Padmé were still touched him, and as if he were closer to being Anakin than being Darth Vader.

* * *

“You’re still awake,” He said. Vader had returned to their quarters later than usual due to the discovery of a nearby abandoned Rebel base. Despite his knowledge that there was nothing to gain from searching it, he had personally gone down to assist the stormtroopers. Padmé had felt a rush of affection towards him when, before leaving that morning, he had told her the task at hand. She had asked why he was going, since he knew that it was a decoy. He had shaken his head slightly and said, in what Padmé was sure would have been a wry tone had there been no modulator, that it was a Rebel base and how would he know it was anything other than legitimate. The entire time he was gone that day, Padmé couldn’t stop thinking. After overhearing his conversation with Palpatine, their increased intimacy, which had largely shifted due to her actions, and just then his clear disregard towards the Empire because he cared for her, Padmé had grown more confident that the man before her was Anakin. The only way she could be sure would be to see his eyes. It haunted her, the memory of his golden eyes on Mustafar. If she could see his eyes, see them to be blue, she would know that the past month had not been a waste. That her Anakin survived. That there was good in him. That he could be saved.

“I want to see you without the mask,” Padmé said softly. Their positions were reminiscent of those first conversations in the bedroom of the Executor, her arms around herself as she stood close to the viewport and his towering frame in the door. This time she was not looking at the stars, but directly at him. Vader or Anakin. She needed to know. She watched as his body stiffened, most likely caught off guard by her request. His breathing cycle was the only sound in the room, as Padmé waited for a response.

“My injuries were severe,” Vader warned, “There were burns over ninety percent of my body and now scars replace them. My body was ravaged on Musta—” He cut himself off, choking on the name of the planet as if it was acid in his mouth, “That day. I cannot breathe, Padmé, not anymore, not after the smoke and the flames. There’s nothing left of me for you to see.” He stepped forward towards her, tilting his head down in the way he used to whenever he was bashful, back then he would let his hair fall into his eyes with the motion to hide them, but with the mask there was no need for that. “I am not the man you remember me being, Padmé.”

Stepping towards him, Padmé closed the space between them. She reached up towards him, cupping the sides of his mask with her hands in a caress unfelt by the mean beneath the armor, “Oh, but Ani, you are.” He surged forward then, pulling her into a tight embrace and, for the first time in almost four years, husband and wife held each other.

* * *

The hyperbaric chamber was sterile to the point of discomfort. Nothing should be that pristine. But for Vader to be able to breathe without his mask, that was what he needed. Padmé felt out of place in the pod. As she had watched the ceiling lower to seal them in, she couldn’t help but wonder if she was making a mistake. What would she do if she was wrong and all she saw were eyes of gold? What would _he_ do if she reacted poorly to that? Aside from Vader and Padmé, the chamber was nearly entirely empty. There were mechanical arms being lowered from the ceiling, to remove the mask, and the seat in which Vader sat, but nothing else.

“Are you sure about this?” Vader asked, as the mechanics of the pod moved around him to remove the mask. Padmé’s throat tightened, scared about what she was going to see, but she nodded, nonetheless. There was a hitch in the sound of Vader’s breathing, as if he sighed. That soothed Padmé, knowing that Vader was just as nervous about this reveal as she was. She didn’t have time to dwell on the sigh, because the mechanical claws were already removing the mask. When the face of the mask detached from the permanent breathing mechanism at Vader’s mouth, there was a loud hiss from the suit as the man trapped inside switched to breathing the filtered air of the chamber. Padmé schooled her features, no matter how she reacted, she didn’t want Vader to see.

His eyes were closed when the mask was finally removed, but it didn’t matter. All thought of whether his eyes were that sickly Sith yellow or Anakin’s calming blue eyes was forgotten at the sight of his injuries. Hearing the extent of the trauma from Obi-Wan and Vader’s warnings had done little to prepare Padmé. She knew the damage was severe, but what she saw before her was worse than what she could imagine because, despite the passing of four years, the burns were still fresh. Across his entire face were pale, leathery burns, that at spots were still open wounds, a harsh red against his otherwise white face. Below his left eye there was charred skin, still black from the contact with the lava, that looked so fresh it could have been received the week before. It was as if he had received no treatment. Worse even, Padmé realized, because he had received treatment but only to the extent that his wounds were in a stasis. The suit preserved his injuries, it did not heal them, and, judging by the lack of improvement, there had been no treatment before he was put within his cage of armor. Without a doubt, Anakin was in constant pain.

At the sight of her husband’s unhealed wounds, Padmé’s natural reaction was to recoil. She flinched, which in turn, caused Anakin to do so.

“I’m sorry I’m not as you remember, Padmé,” He said, his eyes still closed, a grimace on his face, most likely due to a combination of pain and shame. With the helmet off, there was no voice modulator. All she heard was the deep, soothing tone of Anakin’s natural voice. A sound she had yearned for, that she had listened to clips of during her darker days.

Padmé stepped towards him, needing him to understand that she reacted, not because she hated the way he looked, but because she hated that he was still so severely injured. “Anakin, that’s not why — I’m not…” She paused; she didn’t know how to express what she wanted him to know. Padmé settled on asking, “Have you even seen a medic?”

Scoffing, Anakin turned away from her, looking down. For a brief moment Padmé swore she saw a glimpse of blue, but he closed his eyes too quickly for her to be sure. “Nothing more can be done.”

“Nothing more can be done?” Padmé asked, incredulously, “Your burns are still _fresh_. As if they’ve never been treated let alone given any chance to heal! Of course there’s treatments! You think in a galaxy where we can make clones a good skin graft isn’t possible? Any decent medcenter could treat this! You don’t need to be living like this.” Padmé paused for a moment and took in Anakin’s forlorn, his head tilted down, his eyes squeezed shut as if to hold back tears. Closing the space between them, Padmé moved to kneel beside Anakin, she took one hand into hers as she cupped his cheek, ever so careful as to not agitate the open wounds. “He told you that you couldn’t be healed. Didn’t he?” She phrased it like a question, but she didn’t need to, they both knew it was the truth. “Well he lied, Anakin. You told me once that that’s what all slave masters do. That’s what he’s doing to you. Hurting you. Keeping you captive by controlling your body, your healing. Just like planting an explosive device.”

“You don’t understand,” He tried to pull his hand from hers and turn to face away but she stopped him. “This is what I deserve.”

Padmé shook her head and replied softly, “Nobody deserves this, Anakin. Especially not you.” The moment in time seemed frozen, Padmé kneeling before him, touching skin to skin for the first time in too long, when slowly, his eyes fluttered open. Padmé’s heart leapt into her throat, terrified of what she would see. Her first thought, when he opened his eyes, wasn’t on the color, it was that, despite the burns and the scars, the hair loss and the open wounds, he was still beautiful. He would always be beautiful to her, especially with those clear blue eyes staring down at her, begging for something she couldn’t quite name. She knew those eyes so well, not just in his face but in the face of his son, they were the same exact shape and color as Luke’s. Blue. Padmé couldn’t help smiling, a relieved laugh slipping from her lips. Maybe partially one of joy. He was Anakin and they were together again. “Hi,” She said, all but whispering.

“Hi,” He replied, a pained smile quirking at the corners of his mouth.

Tears were forming at the corners of Padmé’s eyes. He was Anakin. Her husband. “I’ve missed you,” Padmé confessed.

Tightening his grip on her hand that rested in her lap, Anakin replied, “I’m right here.”

“I know,” She replied as she rose to a standing position and nodded. She dropped his hand to wipe away a stray tear but kept her other cupping his cheek. Before Padmé stood fully, she paused and, mindful of his burns, pressed a soft, lingering kiss to the crown of Anakin’s head. “And together we’re going to keep it that way.” Meeting Anakin’s shining blue eyes, Padmé vowed, “I will find a way to heal you, Anakin.” It was time for her to step away and she did so reluctantly, cherishing the last seconds she had caressing his cheek. Once she was far enough away, Anakin engaged the mechanics of the pod and his helmet was lowered down, his face once more obscured from view.

* * *

After Padmé went to bed, he returned to the hyperbaric chamber, once more removed his mask, and buried his face in his hands. Conflict raged within him. He had never deserved her. Not before, when he was Anakin. Not now that he was — his thoughts paused for a moment. Who was he? Was he Anakin? He certainly wasn’t Darth Vader, anymore. He hadn’t really been Vader, not completely anyway, since the moment he found out that Padmé was alive.

She was so trusting, too trusting at times, and almost always willing to see the best in people. To see the best in him. His entire life he had struggled to trust. People always had alternative motives, the Jedi council was using him for his powers, Watto had him as a slave. The only two people who he once believed would never use him were Palpatine and Padmé. But Palpatine had used him. Used every last inch of him, corrupted his soul, burnt away his body, and left an empty shell in its place.

Ever since he had become Vader, he was intimately aware of Palpatine’s manipulations. He had spent hours of his life ruminating on every memory he had with the man. So many of his opinions had been shaped by Palpatine since a young age. He had been molded and groomed into a monster, into Vader. But that wasn’t who he was. That wasn’t who Anakin was. Padmé could see that. She insisted that the monster he had become wasn’t who he was meant to be, wasn’t who he was anymore. And she was right. How could a former slave ever be not only okay but an active participant in the enslavement of the entire galaxy?

But how was she so sure? It had to be more than just trusting Anakin, for he had lost that gift long ago.

He groaned, the nonstop spiraling of his thoughts adding an ache in his head to join his other constant pains. His pain. Anakin stiffened at the thought of that. Padmé. Beautiful, optimistic, idealist, Padmé was so sure he could be healed. But there was no hope for him. His Master reminded him often, the metal organs were necessary to keep pace with the artificial breathing, the pain was simply a sad consequence of staying alive. The suit was the only option, his Master would apologize, with lava burns covering over ninety percent of his body it would be impossible to be without the suit and live with enough time to heal. His Master — but his Master was Palpatine. And he had been told so many lies. He shook his head, trying to remove that thought. He would never lie about that. Leave him to such suffering. Not for Vader’s sake of course, but for his own. A healthy apprentice would be better than an injured one. Surely, his Master — Palpatine — would have ensured his recovery, if only for the power.

She was wrong. He could not be healed, it was impossible, a fool’s fantasy. And neither of them were fools, they hadn’t been, even as children. But Padmé was right about everything else. He was Anakin, which was a thought he did not know how to reckon with. Where was he to go from there? He couldn’t return to the Jedi, or what remained of them, nor would he want to. But could he continue living as Vader? Could he live with himself if he did? Ruling the galaxy with an iron fist, enslaving others while in chains himself? Would she stay with him if he did? She saw so much potential for good. Maybe they could achieve that good together, the way he had once planned. Overthrow Palpatine and place Padmé in charge. She could do with the galaxy as she pleased, Anakin wouldn’t care, as long as he was by her side.

* * *

After their conversation in the hyperbaric chamber, Padmé dedicated herself to finding the best medical solution for Anakin. Whenever he was out of their shared quarters, Padmé was in his private office, reading research project after research project, about failed medical trials and successful surgeries. She often found herself wondering what had convinced Anakin he couldn’t be healed. Obviously, it was Sidious, she knew that. What she didn’t know was why he trusted the Sith Lord’s word. Anakin had always pushed back against authority, not in public insurrections but privately. Watto had used him for his skills with technology, so he used those skills to improve his own life without Watto’s permission. The Jedi had forbidden attachments and strong emotions and Anakin lived his life by those two things. But with Sidious it was different. At least in the case of his health. There was so much information out there that Padmé was struggling to find the best option out of dozens, maybe hundreds, but Anakin had never even looked.

There were skin graft treatments with either donor cells or his own cells cloned. There were regenerative options for organs, his lungs specifically, or, again, the option of transplant. There were so many options for better fitted and pain free prosthetics. Seven different med centers on core and mid rim planets were developing synthetic skin technology, a development that was not available when Anakin first lost a limb at the start of the war. All of the prosthesis options that Padmé had come across included sensory data, artificial nerve endings that, once connected to him, would transmit feeling to Anakin’s brain. He’d be able to feel again, to touch, to sense contact. Padmé knew, without Anakin telling her, because she doubted he would even know the words to explain it if he had the strength to, that he was touch starved. He hadn’t had any positive physical contact for years. He was surrounded by pain, forced to feel it down to the bone at all times. New limbs would free him of that burden and give him the gift of gentle touch once more. He deserved this, a better life, a better body.

She was in the process of copying all the different studies and medical options she found onto a data chip to give to Anakin when a notification popped up on the side of the screen. Padmé’s eyes were drawn to the blue rectangle. _Updates to Stardust Plans_. Her eyes widened. It hadn’t occurred to her until that moment that at her fingertips was unrestricted access to the Imperial mainframe. Any information Darth Vader was privy to, when sitting at his console, so was Padmé. Her head shot up and Padmé quickly glanced around the room, as if someone was there to see her click the notification or read her thoughts that would be betraying Anakin’s trust. He wasn’t in their suite. He had work to do on the bridge and wouldn’t be back until late that night. There were no cameras in Darth Vader’s private quarters. No one had access to the rooms except for him and Padmé. No one would know if she looked at the plans. So she did.

She knew this was betraying Anakin’s trust, there was an unspoken agreement that while aboard his flagship she was not an active member of the Rebellion. It was a truce, of sorts. But, despite being on the precipice of falling back in love with Anakin, Padmé was still a member of the Rebellion. She was still disgusted by Project Stardust, by the actions of the Empire, by Anakin’s choices. She was not going to let the opportunity pass. She had been so focused on Anakin that she had lost sight of what mattered, a better galaxy. Without another moment of hesitation, Padmé clicked the notification, pulling up the blueprints that were sent to her husband. Hungrily, her eyes roamed over the plans. She didn’t have the mechanical skills to understand what she was looking at, but she had more than enough common sense to know that it was both classified and vital to the Rebellion’s effort to destroy the super weapon.

Grabbing another blank data chip, Padmé downloaded the entirety of blueprints to the battle station. She didn’t know how, but she was going to get that information to her allies. As she detached the data chip that could very well lead to the downfall of the empire, a thought occurred to Padmé. She didn’t just have unrestricted access to Darth Vader’s documents on Stardust, she had unrestricted access to the Sith Lord himself. What if — Padmé paused for a second letting the thought linger —what if she confronted Anakin about Project Stardust? About the Death Star, as it was labeled on the plans she had pulled up on the screen in front of her. What if this was what it took to get Anakin to turn on Sidious? If she could convince him that the horrors of the Death Star should never be constructed?

* * *

“I know about Stardust. And I also know you already knew that,” Padmé said, all but ambushing the imposing figure of her husband as he entered their quarters. The door hadn’t even finished closing behind him before she was on him, finally confronting him about the most abhorrent invention the galaxy would ever see. “And I can’t stand by anymore while you work to destroy the galaxy.”

He stepped forward and started to say her name, but Padmé cut him off, “I came here, to you, so I could know whether or not you were still Anakin. To know if Obi-wan was right and that my husband was really gone. To know if I was right and there was still good left in him. And I can’t figure it out,” Padmé heard her voice crack from emotion as she spoke and inwardly cringed. She wanted to be strong, to be angry, but she felt tears threatening at the corners of her eyes as she continued speaking, “Because you treat me like Anakin would treat me and you talk to me like Anakin would talk to me, but a weapon with the power to kill indiscriminately, to wipe out an entire planet? Anakin would _never_ stand by and let that happen. It’s evil. It’s pure evil. There’s no other way to describe it.”

They were standing close, closer than Padmé felt comfortable, considering he was a Sith Lord who she just challenged. His head was bowed slightly, she couldn’t see his face because of the mask but could tell her was looking at her. She was standing tall, her chin tilted up in the defiant way she honed through years of political debate and staring directly at the mask’s lenses. It was possible their eyes were meeting, though she had no way of knowing. Her heart was pounding against her chest, it felt like it was loud enough to fill the room, but in reality the only sound was the steady rhythm of her husband’s regulator. She waited for him to respond, but all he did was continue to stare down at her. It was rare for Anakin to be at a loss for words, even more so since he had become Vader. But, then again, it also wasn’t often a Sith Lord was challenged. Squaring her shoulders, Padmé kept her head held high and asked the question that had been plaguing her since coming aboard the naval flagship, “Who are you? Anakin Skywalker or Darth Vader? It’s time for you to decide.”

* * *

He felt frozen. What could he possibly say to her? That she’s right? That he is Anakin Skywalker, that the Dark Side isn’t as binding, all consuming, as he was led to believe? But that wasn’t true. Ever since she returned to him, came aboard his ship, he had felt the Light at the edges of the Force. Like that moment before dawn when the sun is about to come but night seems endless. But that doesn’t negate the fact that he still feels the power of the Dark Side, still is consumed by it, fueled by it. He knows the Death Star is wrong, but does that mean he isn’t Darth Vader? Does that mean he’s going to do something about it? Probably not. He wasn’t strong enough. Wasn’t the man she wanted him to be. He couldn’t fight the pull of the Dark Side and return to the Light, no matter how welcoming it seemed. Could he? What would it take?

“I… I don’t know,” He replied as softly as his vocoder allowed.

Padmé shook her head, “That’s not an option. You need to decide. If you’re Anakin help me stop this and if you’re Vader… I don’t know, but I can’t be a part of that. I can’t condone this course of action.”

Vader opened his mouth, ready to respond, when his comlink beeped. It was his Master, requesting immediate response.

“I have to go,” He said, turning away from Padmé, a strange feeling of shame welling in the pit of his stomach, “I must obey my Master.”

His heart dropped to his stomach as he saw the hope leave Padmé’s eyes, “That answers the question then, doesn’t it,” She replied. He turned away, walking in long strides as he left the room. He would take his Master’s call from the private communication chamber closer to the bridge, away from Padmé’s heartbroken stare.

* * *

Entering the dark room, he immediately dropped to his knees and pressed the button on his wrist unit to answer the call. He kept his head tilted down in his standard subservient position he assumed when talking with his Master. When the com calls connected, he was greeted with a brief but agonizing blast of Sith lightning. “You are _late_ , Lord Vader.”

Despite the pain, he kept his pose, head bowed down and on a knee. He was used to the pain. “I apologize, my Master,” he replied, gritting his teeth, “The communications room within my chambers had a technical issue.”

“Do not allow such a delay again,” Sidious warned. After a pause, he narrowed his eyes, glaring down at his kneeling apprentice. “You have been failing me, Lord Vader, and I do not condone failure.”

Behind his mask, Anakin grimaced, whatever he had done that Sidious considered failure could not have been good. But there was nothing he had done recently, beside the hunt for the Rebels. His eyes widened and his head jerked up, looking up at the projection of his Master.

“Ah,” Sidious croaked, a devious smile played across his lips, “You know how you have disappointed me? My Empire? I have given you a great task, Lord Vader, one that I believed you could handle. Clearly, I was mistaken, as after the past three months since your last return to Imperial Center you have found nothing useful on the Rebels. Empty bases with incorrect information do not protect our interests.” Without warning, Sidious reached out with the Force, lightning flying from his fingertips, and reaching through the holo projection to hit Vader directly in the chest. It was just a jolt, only a second of shock, and after many punishments for the past four years, Anakin was able to maintain his kneeling form despite the additional pain wracking through his body. “I do not condone failure, Lord Vader,” Sidious continued, “Which is why I am enroute to join you onboard the Executor. It is time to rectify your current deficiencies, my apprentice.”

If not for his respirator, Anakin would have stopped breathing. Sidious couldn’t come to the Executor. _Padmé_ was aboard the Executor. Padmé, who he was tasked to execute. He could never do that. He could never let Sidious near her. “Of course, my Master,” Anakin responded, trying to calm his racing emotions, praying Sidious could not feel his spike of panic or if he did, connected it only with fear of punishment, “When can I expect your gracious presence.”

“The boarding party should be awaiting me within three standard-hours, Lord Vader,” Sidious replied, “Do not disappoint again.” Without another word, Sidious disengaged the call, leaving Anakin alone, in the dark silent room. With speed Anakin had not realized he still had due to his artificial limbs, he rose, frantic to reach Padmé in his rooms.

* * *

Anakin raced out of the room, trying to calm his reeling mind enough to face his Master without revealing his emotions. Padmé was right. He can’t let his Master do this. He can’t let Sidious destroy the galaxy any more than he has. _Shield your thoughts, he can’t feel your panic_ , he told himself, as he ran. Crew members in the hallways were dodging out of his way as he ran but he did not slow. He moved faster than he knew he could, than he should have been able to, but he had so little time. He had to get to Padmé. He had to protect her. _Shield your thoughts, he can’t know about her_ , he thought.

Each heavy footstep clunked on the floor, drawing him closer and closer to her but it still felt too slow. Any trooper or officer he passed along the way all but dived to the side to avoid him, which was lucky for them, as nothing in the galaxy would have stood in Anakin’s way as he raced to his wife.

He owed her so much. An apology. A thousand apologies. Letting her know she was right. She was so right. He was Anakin. He had always been Anakin. He had been lied to, he had lied to himself, trying to bury the guilt, the shame, the sorrow he constantly felt. He couldn’t stand idly by any longer. Not when Padmé was threatened, not when he knew better. The sprint to his quarters took less than five minutes, but it felt like a lifetime. He needed to get to her. To get her safe. To keep her away from Sidious.

Bursting into their rooms, he called out for her, desperation evident even through his vocoder. She wasn’t there. She wasn’t there. When was the last time he had come into the sitting room and she wasn’t there. He called out again for her, pleading for the Force to hear her reply. Then there she was, in the doorway to her bedroom, concern etched across her face, her brow furrowed as she asked, “Anakin?” She stepped forward towards him, “Ani, what’s wrong?”

In four long strides, Anakin crossed the room, grabbing Padmé by the upper arms, “He’s coming. You need to leave, now.” As he spoke, he used the Force to gather her things that lay around the room, pulling them together and into a bag that was tucked under her bed. It wasn’t much, a few holodisks, the flight suit she wore when she first arrived, and the bathrobe she had favored during her time on the Executor, but it was all he could offer. Everything else would be incinerated once she was gone. There couldn’t be any evidence remaining for Sidious to find.

“What?” Padmé asked. Despite her confusion she allowed Anakin to lead her out of the room, his large arms wrapped around her as he did so, as if he were a massive, fearsome, shadow. Just as the door slid closed, he called her bag towards them and flung it over his shoulder. There was no time to wait. He needed to protect her. He needed to keep her away from Sidious.

“You were right,” He told her as they hurried down the hallway, “About everything. I’m sorry I didn’t realize sooner. I’m sorry that—” He cut himself off, giving his head a quick shake as if to erase the thought from his mind, “It doesn’t matter. None of that matters. What matters is keeping you safe.”

“Safe from what?” Padmé asked a little short of breath due to the fast pace she kept matching Anakin’s strides, “What’s going on?”

Anakin stopped in the middle of the hallway, ignoring the trooper walking by and the mouse droid quickly rolling by in slight panic. He turned to Padmé, looking down at her, wishing she could see his face or hear his thoughts, wishing there was a way to truly convey to her how much he loved her, how desperate he was to keep her safe. “Sidious is coming, Padmé. He’ll be here in just a few hours. You need to be gone by then. You need to be safe.” Without another word, he once more resumed striding down the hall. Padmé hurried with him, his urgency now joined with her own.

A little breathless from the quick pace, Padmé asked, “Why is he coming? Did something happen?”

“I, I have failed him,” Anakin responded, not missing a step as he swung them around a sharp corner. He picked up speed, knowing they were only a few hallways from the hangar that held Padmé’s ship, “I haven’t found the rebels. I haven’t stopped them. I haven’t found _you_.”

“What are you saying, Anakin?” Padmé replied, pleading for some answers.

As they entered the hangar, Anakin started shouting orders to the nearby troopers and crewmen to prepare Padmé’s ship, not answering her question. As his men began running the flight process for Padmé, Anakin brought her to the hatch. Still not answering her questions, he picked her up, hefting her into the ship. Padmé protested, demanding answers. Once she was safely aboard her escape vessel, Anakin looked up at her.

“You were right,” He said as softly as the vocoder allowed, wishing that his voice could be gentle like it once was, that she could hear how much pain he was feeling, “You were right about so much. About who I am. About the mistakes I’ve made. And I can’t stand by anymore, especially not when it would put you in danger.”

Leaning forward, Padmé cupped the side of Anakin’s mask with her hand, “What are you saying?”

Letting out a sigh, Anakin studied her face. Her deep brown eyes, the concerned quirk of her lips, the laugh lines that were deeper than before he Fell, the furrow in her brow that was deeper as well. He wouldn’t see her again, he knew that. He wouldn’t see anyone again, soon. He had to stop Sidious. He had to try. And he knew that it would cost him his life. But it would be worth it, for her. “I’m sorry,” He said, letting out a heavy sigh, “But we don’t. So, you need to leave. Go back to the Rebellion. Tell them what you learned. I’m going to do what I can to take care of Sidious, but you are responsible for restoring democracy.” He let out another sigh, “I wish I had realized sooner.”

* * *

What she would have given to hear these words from Anakin years ago, even hours ago. But under the circumstances, being rushed to leave and not knowing when or if she would see him again, a small selfish part of Padmé wished things stayed the same. Living in the limbo that they had been in was a sort of blissful ignorance. This was a harsh return to reality, of the Emperor’s desire for Padmé to die and of Anakin’s role as his right-hand man. Tears sprung to Padmé’s eyes and she leaned forward, pressing a fierce kiss against the mask to the crown of Anakin’s head, “I love you,” She said solemnly.

She opened her mouth, about to tell Anakin the secret she had been keeping close to her chest the entire time they were together when her ship lurched. The crewman who had been running the engine sequence came hurrying towards the couple. He interrupted the intimate moment, letting them know the ship was ready for flight, working hyperdrive and all. The engine had already started to hum to life, all the switches flipped, the only thing preventing the ship from lifting out of the hangar at that moment was the lack of a pilot.

“You need to go,” Anakin said, as the crewman climbed down. He pulled away from Padmé’s gentle touch and gave her a small push forward, urging her to leave. He turned on his heel, giving her no time to say goodbye.

“Wait!” Padmé called after him, needing to let him know, “I lied,” She yelled as her ship’s engine already began to roar to life, “Luke didn’t die, Anakin. He’s alive.” Anakin turned to her. She could only imagine the shock on his face. “It’s not just—”

Anakin cut her off, “You need to go, Padmé! You’re running out of time!”

“Come back to me,” Padmé pleaded, cutting herself off, “Come back to _us_.” Before Anakin could respond she hurried deeper into her ship, closing the hatch behind her. Sealed off from Anakin, her heart was already aching. For all she knew, this would be the last time she ever saw him.

The last thing she heard before the ramp sealed with a decisive click was Anakin’s own prayer as he confessed, “I wish we had more time.”

Climbing into the pilot’s seat, nearly blinded by the tears burning at her eyes, Padmé silently agreed. She didn’t even have time to tell him about Leia. They didn’t even have time to say goodbye. She was grateful when she entered hyperspace because she could pretend the blurring of the stars was due to that instead of the tears she was no longer holding back.

* * *

Numb, even after two days of space flight, Padmé went through the landing process on autopilot. She flipped the switches she needed to, piloted the ship to the flight deck, and shut off the systems, barely aware of her actions. The entire time, her thoughts were trained on Anakin. He was all she had thought of the entire flight. When she slept, fitfully albeit, she dreamt of him. Looking out over the ever-busy flight deck, Padmé’s heart ached. The last time she had been there, part of her was sure she would never return. But there she was, just under three months later, alive and justified in her belief in her husband’s goodness. Yet the supposed triumph felt empty, just like Padmé. Had she really succeeded if Anakin were to die? If he were to sacrifice himself for the good of the galaxy? It was what Senator Amidala should have wanted. But, despite the betrayal of her morals, it was not what Padmé really wanted.

Her entire relationship with Anakin had been grounded in naivety and willful ignorance. They married ignoring a war, ignoring their duties, ignoring all other vows except the ones they shared. Their marriage was entirely in secret, sometimes more like children playing house than a committed couple. Likewise, their relationship fell apart with each one looking the other way, ignoring warning signs, ignoring flaws, pretending everything was as perfect as it was when they were wrapped in each other's arms on Naboo. Being together was always going to destroy their lives. Yet they had taken that risk, ignoring all the warning signs. Maybe it was always supposed to end like this, she mused. Torn apart by their own actions, their own sins, and galactic conflict. Maybe their destiny was always to end in tragedy.

But, when Padmé looked out her ship’s viewpoint and wiped away her tears, her heart felt full. Being together destroyed their lives, yes, but it also made hers so much better. For the first time since she confronted Anakin, Padmé began to smile. On the far end of the flight deck she saw the two people she missed more than anything. Luke and Leia. They were walking with Threepio, each with a hand tightly held in one of his to prevent either youngling, albeit it was probably specifically for Luke, to wander too far. No matter what happened to Anakin after she left, no matter what would happen to her in the future, they had created the two brightest lights in her galaxy, in the whole galaxy, and it was worth it. Grinning, Padmé quickly lowered the ramp and hurried off the ship.

Delighted cries reached her ears as Luke and Leia both wrenched their hands free from C-3PO’s concerned grasp. Both were running as quickly as their little legs could carry them. For once, Luke didn’t even slow down to gawk at the rebels or fighters that were out. He was too focused on reaching his mother, who, like his sister, he was calling out for. Once more, tears sprung to Padmé’s eyes, but this time from joy. Nearly three months away from the twins was nearly three months too long. The longest she had ever been away from them before was for a one-week mission. Dropping to her knees, Padmé opened her arms wide. In an instant the twins were on her, throwing themselves into her waiting embrace. Luke buried his face into her shoulder and she could feel his own tears wetting her neck. Leia, likewise, was crying softly against Padmé’s bosom, overjoyed to be back in the safehold of her mother’s arms.

Padmé littered their faces with kisses, pressing her lips against every inch of them she could reach. When she had left, part of her was positive it was the last time she would ever see them. To hold them again, she felt whole. She never wanted to let go of them again. No matter what had happened in the past or what was yet to come, being with Anakin, loving him was worth it, if only for the two children wrapped tightly in her arms. When she finally released the twins from her embrace, Padmé pressing the heel of her hand against her cheeks, she quickly wiped away her tears of joy. “Now,” she said, smiling widely at Luke and Leia, one hand warmly clutching a shoulder on each of them, “Tell me everything I missed.” In an instant, the twins were rambling about everything they had done since she was gone ranging from the mundane, such as Threepio insisting they brush their teeth _twice_ _a day_ to the exciting when Obi-Wan let Luke sit in an E-wing cockpit. Neither twin stopped talking, even as Padmé took their hands into her own and led them off the flight deck. She was happy to listen, each word they said was like a new treasure, something precious, that she would keep in her heart always. Oh, how she had missed them.

* * *

Exhaustion, both emotional and physical, set in quickly once Padmé was back on the rebel base. The twins, on the other hand, seemed to have an endless amount of energy, nearly running circles around her. It took nearly an hour to calm them down enough for her to make it to the council room to debrief. After being gone for so long, Padmé ached to part with them, even for a meeting. The twins must have felt the same way, because they refused to move away from the door, settling down in the hallway with Threepio’s watchful eye keeping them from causing too much trouble. Mon, Dodonna, and Obi-Wan were already in the council room, all three looking relieved to see Padmé.

“Senator Amidala,” Mon said, her voice the carefully maintained neutral all politicians were expert at, but her eyes revealed the joy she felt at Padmé being back, “We had feared the worst. Master Kenobi told us your mission and after no communication for so long.”

Padmé nodded, a thin polite smile, “Thank you, Mon. I know I have a lot of explanations and even more to debrief, but I hope you understand, after being gone for so long-”

“You want to go to your quarters with the twins?” Dodonna interrupted, a small smile on his lips, “We understand.”

“Thank you,” Padmé nodded again, “Then let’s keep this quick.” She flicked her gaze quickly over to Obi-Wan, where he stood silently, his back against the wall and his chin cupped in his hand as he always does while thinking, “Darth Vader has turned against Palpatine. The last I saw, he was preparing for a confrontation with the Emperor.” The other disgraced senators audibly gasped. Obi-Wan, on the other hand, only reacted by a quick raise of his eyebrow. “This,” Padmé continued, pulling out the data chip that Anakin had flung into her bag alongside other holodisks and slid it out on the table, “Contains the technical readouts and schematics of Project Stardust, also known as the Death Star battle station. Project Stardust is everything we feared and more. No matter what happens between Vader and the Emperor, it is prudent for the survival of the Rebellion and the safety of the galaxy that we utilize these plans.” Eyes darting between the three other Alliance leaders in the room, she finished by saying “If there’s nothing else to discuss, I would like to retire to my quarters with the twins. I’ll be back for the morning strategizing session to give a full debrief.”

Neither Dodonna nor Mon argued as Padmé left the room, Obi-Wan, however, followed her out. She ignored him as she greeted the twins and let them lead her to their small room. Threepio tottered alongside them, chatting absently about how relieved he was to be finally shutting down for the night. Behind them, the Jedi master silently followed the family, not yet pushing the conversation that Padmé knew he was yearning to have. When they reached the door to their small dorm area, Padmé indicated for Obi-Wan to come in, but still did not speak. On a normal day, if Obi-Wan were in the rooms, the twins would be pounding him with questions, but, most likely because of how much they missed their mother, they focused solely on Padmé. The Jedi Master settled into one of the small seats tucked away against the half table while Threepio shut himself down for the night in his designated corner. Ignoring the two of them, Padmé focused on the twins. She smiled as she watched them scurry around the tight quarters, running back and forth between the attached fresher as they got ready for bed. Helping them brush their teeth, which was almost always a chore, was even enjoyable as both were so ready to please. That made Padmé laugh, as she knew very well that eagerness would fade back to their normal stubbornness once they realized she was not leaving again. Once their teeth were deemed clean enough by their mother, the twins clambered into their shared bunk. Because of the tight quarters of the rebel base, the family shared a bunk bed, the twins together on the lower level and Padmé above them. It was only after the twins were tucked into their covers and Padmé had read them three different stories that he turned her attention to Obi-Wan.

“Hallway,” She told him briskly, leading him out of the room to let the twins fall asleep without what was sure to be an argument keeping them awake. Again, neither spoke. Padmé settled herself against the wall, leaning her back against it. Across from her Obi-Wan stood still, except for his hand that was slowly stroking his beard in thought. He was the one who wanted to talk. He was the one who was going to start talking, Padmé wasn’t going to be the first one to speak.

Eventually, Obi-Wan broke the stalemate with a heavy sigh, “Padmé, I understand that you miss Anakin, but Darth Vader—”

“Is Anakin and has turned against the Emperor,” Padmé cut him off.

“That’s not possible,” Obi-Wan implored, “Once a person has fallen to the Dark Side, that is their fate! They cannot turn away from it, everything is corrupted in the wake of darkness, everything, including Anakin.”

Narrowing her eyes, Padmé glared at Obi-Wan, “You know, I could hear you and Anakin on Mustafar. After I passed out. I remember what you said, what both of you said. You told him only Sith deal in absolutes. Is that itself not an absolute?” Obi-Wan opened his mouth, ready to counter Padmé, but she kept speaking, not giving him an opening, “There is good in him, Obi-Wan. I’ve seen it. He’s seen it. He has realized the wrong he has done and is going to make things right. Whether or not you believe that, whether or not it takes the Emperor’s head laying before your feet for you to realize it, it’s the truth. Now if you excuse me, I have had a very long day and would like to retire for the night.” Without pause, Padmé turned her back on Obi-Wan and slid into her quarters. She sealed the door behind her, leaving her alone in the darkness, the only sound the soft even breathing of the sleeping twins.

* * *

Three days later, Padmé woke early in the rotation to frantic pounding against the door. She opened, surprised to see Mon on the other side. The other senator was grinning, the widest most exuberant smile Padmé had ever seen on the usually reserved woman. As soon as the door was open, Mon threw her arms around Padmé, pulling her into a tight embrace. Startled, Padmé wasn’t even able to hug back before she was let go.

“The Emperor is dead!” Mon declared, grasping Padmé’s shoulders tightly, “Vader has renounced the throne and ceded all control to the Alliance!”

“What?” Padmé asked, her eyes wide. Had it really happened so quickly? Was it all over in the blink of an eye, the galaxy finally safe? “And what happened to Vader?”

Mon shook her head, the smile fading slightly, “No one knows. He’s gone.”

Forcing a smile on her face, Padmé pulled Mon into a hug. She knew what Anakin was risking, facing the Emperor. She left knowing she would never see him again. But that didn’t stop ache from mingling with the joy of victory deep in her heart.

* * *

It had been one year, three months, two weeks, and a handful of days, hours, and minutes that Padmé did not have the energy or time to keep track of, since the last time she had seen her husband. Establishing a new government and raising twins as a single mother made it near impossible to keep track of such things. The ache in her chest she felt whenever she thought of Anakin also hindered her from keeping track of the passing seconds. She needed to focus on other things, and there was so much else to focus on.

After Palpatine’s death, Padmé and the other politicians who were members of rebel command returned to Coruscant. It was dangerous and they had protection with them at all times, but it was necessary. Filling the power vacuum left with the Emperor’s death and Vader’s abdication proved daunting. There were thousands of systems in the Senate that were against reinstating democracy. But, alongside the Delegation of 2000, there was a surprising amount of support. Transitioning from tyranny to democracy was challenging, dissenting voices opposed every amendment to the laws and many freedoms as they were granted. The Moffs were the most dangerous among the New Republic’s opposition. Appointed by Palpatine, they had been promised unchallenged rule, which the New Republic promised to end. The threatened wars, they threatened assassination, they did everything they could to terrorize the leaders of the New Republic and keep the Empire’s systems in place. But each time a Moff spoke out against democracy, each time Padmé or Bail or Mon were threatened, each time an attack took place in the name of the Emperor, it would stop within days. Moffs kept dying. Found dead in their beds, no evidence of foul play, no previous health issues, just dying. Every time a Moff died it was ruled to be of natural causes, suffocating in their sleep.

Sometimes, Padmé found herself wondering if it was him. If Anakin had survived the fight with Palpatine and had set across the universe protecting the New Republic. But she never let herself hope for long. It hurt too much. He couldn’t have survived because if he had, if he was out there, alive, why hadn’t he come back to her? To their family? It had to be someone else, of course it was someone, as the deaths were too well timed to be a coincidence. There was someone else, out there in the galaxy, protecting the New Republic. While their actions were not the most moral, Padmé found comfort in the fact that there was someone keeping the remaining darkness at bay. Whoever it was, they did their job well. Within the first six months under the new administration, all remaining Moffs willingly stepped back from their positions. While the decision was most likely made out of fear for their lives rather than yielding to the benefits of democracy, the actions were the best for the galaxy. As the pro-Empire opposition dwindled, so did the unexplained deaths, coming entirely to a halt once the Moffs all resigned. With the Moffs gone, threats against the New Republic came to a stop by the end of the first year. Democracy bloomed once more the people of the galaxy found they preferred freedom to tyranny. Elections across the galaxy were successful, with crowds flooding polling stations.

As the galaxy celebrated the first anniversary of the New Republic, Padmé relinquished her official role in the administration. The twins were getting older every day, rapidly approaching their sixth birthday and their first year of school. Fighting a war, leading the galaxy, it constantly took Padmé away from them. Finally, with the New Republic thriving, Padmé could confidently step back from her duties. For the first time in her life, Padmé was able to choose her family instead of her responsibilities to the galaxy. She had missed so much of the twins’ life while working as an agent for the Rebellion. While she had been there for Luke’s first word, she had been on a week-long mission when Leia said hers. She had been there for Leia’s first steps, but had been in a meeting during Luke’s. During the first year of the New Republic, she had missed fewer milestones simply because achievements were spread out slightly more at five rather than between birth and four. With the galaxy at peace, Padmé knew it was time to step back, to be there for the twins.

Six months after her official resignation, Padmé was an acting advisor for Mon Mothma, who had been elected Chancellor in the first open election in the aftermath of the Empire. She had returned to Naboo, choosing the serenity and safety of Varykino to raise the twins, rather than remaining on Coruscant. Afterall, her plan had always been to raise the twins at home on Naboo, it just took longer than anticipated to get there. However, due to the time differences between Coruscant and Naboo, Padmé often found herself working odd hours. Some days, she would be advising on a live senate session late into the night. She tried her best to work only when the twins were asleep, not wanting to leave them under Threepio’s supervision unless necessary. Which was how she found herself alone in the kitchen, the early morning sun just starting to creep in through the window, reading through bills that had been proposed to the Senate.

Still in her pajamas, Padmé had her silk robe tied tightly around her for warmth, as the shurra fruit tea she had brewed when she woke up was already cooling. Highlighting a passage that she thought that Mon would want to edit, Padmé let out a sigh. How did I end up spending my mornings doing this, Padmé found herself wondering, almost regretting agreeing to still help the Chancellor. Shaking her head, she tried to refocus on the datapad in front of her. The only reason her mind was wandering there was because she was tired and she knew the twins would be waking sooner rather than later. She was happy to advise the New Republic as needed, although, she thought sardonically, that that could change once Luke and Leia outgrew nap time. What would she ever do without her own naps, Padmé mused silently to herself with a sardonic quirk of her lips. As Padmé clicked through to the last bill she had to review and the sun came to fully light the room, an alarm started blaring, filling the house with the jarring noise.

Jolting from where she sat at the kitchen island, Padmé ran to the wall. In the six months since settling into Varykino, the perimeter alarm had never sounded. Moving back to Naboo, Padmé had ensured that Varykino would be as secure as possible. Each room had a dataport that had access to the manor’s security system. As quickly as she could, Padmé entered the code to shut off the alarm. It was too late however, as sobs started coming from the twins’, upset from the rude wakeup from the blaring alarm. Knowing that Threepio was programmed to go straight to the twins as soon as the alarm sounded, Padmé focused on the security system. Protecting them was priority over wiping their tears, no matter how much hearing them call for her always hurt. Eyes roving the screen, Padmé was concerned to see an unidentified ship had entered the Varykino airspace.

“Unidentified ship,” Padmé said, activating the ground to craft comms on general frequency, “You have entered restricted airspace. Leave now or the Nubian Navy will be contacted.” Padmé paused, her heart hammering in her chest. There were no spaceports close enough to Varykino to provide any reasonable protection from a ship. Her warning was entirely a bluff. If the craft landed, the only defense Varykino had was Padmé, armed with a blaster and Anakin’s lightsaber. When there was no response and the video feed made it clear the ship was preparing for landing, Padmé let out an angry huff. If she had to fight, she would fight. Both the lightsaber and blaster were kept in a safe in the back of Padmé’s closet, so she hurried from the kitchen, tying her robe tighter as she went. Once she had her weapons, Padmé ducked into the twins’ room. Threepio, bless his circuitry, had managed to soothe their tears and calm them slightly. Luke had switched over to join Leia in her bed, a common occurrence when he was sad.

“Someone’s coming, mommy,” Luke said, his words slightly muffled due to him holding the comforter up in front of his face.

Leia nodded, looking up at Padmé with big eyes, “We can feel ‘em in our head.” She tapped her temple to emphasize our words.

Smiling warmly at the twins, Padmé said, “It’ll be alright.”

“We know,” Luke replied, lowering the comforter a little. His blue eyes were shining with honesty and the truth. Maybe his certainty was a Force thing, maybe it was the certainty every five-year-old has in their mother, Padmé didn’t know. She also didn’t have time to dwell on it. Instead, she turned to Threepio, “Do not, under any circumstances, let them leave this room until I come back. Do you understand?”

“Of course, Mistress Padmé, I will—,” The protocol droid began one of his usual ramblings, but Padmé did not continue listening. There wasn’t time. Turning on her heel, she hurried down the hallway, took the steps two at a time to the first floor, and hurried through the living room, to reach the front door. As she moved through the manor, Padmé found herself regretting that she had lent Obi-Wan R2D2. While Threepio was loyal, Artoo was without a doubt a much braver droid. Next time the Jedi visited, if there was a next time, Padmé would be sure to take Artoo back. That was her last thought as she reached the front door. Taking a steady breath, Padmé raised the blaster. The lightsaber was insurance, she kept it clipped to the tie of her robe. With a strong push, Padmé opened the door.

Varykino, nearly entirely surrounded by water, also had beautiful gardens. The manor was on a small island and the front door opened to a little field that was bookended by the gardens and then the shining lake. The grassy area was no larger than 25 yards and it was entirely engulfed by the spaceship, which had already landed. With the slide of her finger, Padmé released the safety, prepared for whoever was going to step off the ship. The exit ramp lowered much slower than Padmé would have wanted and she waited with bated breath to see who would disembark. The design of the ship was such that it was near impossible to see the face of who was walking down the ramp until they reached the ground. First, she saw boots. Men’s boots, large, and whoever they belonged to was walking down the ramp with loud, slightly clunking steps. Whoever it had come was wearing casual pants, cargo style, the type that a smuggler or active rebel would often wear. Out of the men Padmé knew who would come to Varykino without announcement, essentially Obi-Wan, Bail, or Padmé’s father, none of them would wear such clothing.

Padmé fired a warning shot, scorching the ramp right beside his next step, “Take another step and my next shot won’t miss,” Padmé all but hissed her warning.

“Don’t shoot, please,” A familiar voice pleaded. A lump formed in Padmé’s throat and she froze. Taking the lack of blaster fire as a good sign, the man continued walking down the ramp. With the dark blue pants, the man wore a deep gray shirt, untucked, and a heavy black coat. As he reached the ground, he had to duck his head to avoid hitting the hull of his ship. Seeing his face, Padmé dropped her blaster completely, her jaw dropping. As the blaster hit the ground, a stray shot was fired. Padmé jumped, as did the man. “Force, Padmé!” He exclaimed.

She barely heard him, barely heard the accidental shot, even. She was too focused on him. His skin was smooth and pale, but clear except for a faint scar over his right eye that looked like it was all but gone. Dark blonde hair was shorn short, shorter than Padmé had ever seen it, essentially peach fuzz, as if just beginning to grow. And his eyes, oh, his eyes. They were the same clear, bright shade of blue Padmé saw in her son’s face every day.

“Anakin?” She asked, not believing her eyes.

He nodded, looking both bashful and ashamed. She watched a familiar nervous tick, as he lifted his hand, _his seemingly flesh hand_ , to scratch at the back of his neck. Tears rushed to Padmé’s eyes as she realized what that meant. He had looked at her research. He had listened to her and _believed_ her. Which was evident, by his lack of suit, by him standing before her, by the Emperor being dead. “I thought you were _dead_ ,” Padmé choked out, struggling to believe what she was seeing, “Why didn’t you come back sooner?”

Shame blanked Anakin’s features, “I thought,” He paused for a moment, clearly reigning in his own emotions, “I feared you wouldn’t want to see me.”

“Then why come here now?” Padmé asked, searching his face from a far, absorbing in his healthy features, his healed features.

“I had to see you one last time before…” He trailed off.

Straightening her back, Padmé asked, “Before what?”

He shrugged, “Leaving, for the Unknown Regions. It’s what I deserve. I’ve been trying to, to make amends, but I could never repent enough. That’s why, it’s why I didn’t come to you before. I had to _try_ to make things right.”

Furrowing her brow, Padmé had to ask the question she had been wondering for months, that she never let herself believe, “It was you, wasn’t it? Killing the Moffs.” Anakin nodded and looked down at his boots, as if ashamed for those actions. In another life, a different universe, maybe Padmé would have hated him for killing them. But Padmé could not imagine a world like that. She could never think of a single universe where she would not forgive Anakin if he returned to her. Which was why she dropped the lightsaber from her robe as well, not wanting it to get in her way, and she ran. Moving as quickly as she could, Padmé flung herself at Anakin, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him close. As soon as her arms engulfed him, Anakin sagged against her, burying his head against the crook of her neck, his face getting lost in her mane of curls. Fiercely and passionately, she hissed lovingly into his ear that he was forgiven, that he wasn’t leaving, that he was home, where he belonged, and they would both be damned to the seven Sith hells if he ever tried to leave her again. Against her, Anakin openly wept, just repeating again and again that he loved her, that he was sorry, that he would make things right. His tears soaked into her curls and her thin bathrobe and neither of them cared. They just held each other, warmed in their love and the light of the almost risen sun.

Eventually, Padmé pulled back. She loosened her grip around Anakin’s neck and moved to cup his cheeks in her hands. Their eyes met, bearing into each other. “I love you,” She told him, “I have always loved you, Anakin, and I always will. You are a good man. You just got a little lost, but you’ve found yourself again.” Anakin opened his mouth, clearly about to apologize again. There was time to apologize in the future, endless chances to atone, and Padmé knew that he was going to take every one of those opportunities for much longer than he needed to. So, Padmé cut him off with a kiss. Pushing herself up on her toes, she pressed her lips against his. For the first time in too many years, her heart felt whole. It was a perfect moment, like living the memory of their last perfect moment before Anakin’s fall. But unlike that kiss, this one was beckoning a brighter future. They kissed, again and again and again. Reveling in the moment, each other, the feel of their lips meeting that they had both ached for for much too long.

Their moment was broken though, from the half-frantic half-pleading voice of Threepio from the open doorway, “Mistress Padmé, I tried to stop them, but they are near impossible to reign in without any help.”

Pulling away from each other, both Padmé and Anakin turned to look back at the manor. Standing behind Threepio, using his shining legs as a poor hiding spot, were Luke and Leia. Padmé felt Anakin grow slightly slack against her, his jaw falling in shock and his eyes going wide. Glancing between him and their children, Padmé smiled and blinked back the tears that had been burning at her eyes since she first saw Anakin’s face again. “I tried to tell you,” Padmé explained softly, “When I was leaving the Executor. Luke survived. As did his twin sister, Leia.”

Turning her attention to the twins, Padmé continued, “Come here you two.”

“Are we in trouble?” Leia asked, eyeing her parents, ready to flee to the house if she was about to be punished. Luke, on the other hand, had already started walking to his mother.

Shaking her head, Padmé let out a laugh, “You aren’t in trouble. There’s just someone very important for you to meet.”

“We can feel you!” Luke chirped when he reached the ship, “In our heads!”

Dropping to a crouch so he could look Luke in the eye, Anakin replied, “I can feel you, too.”

“You can?” Leia asked, finally approaching, “Mommy can’t feel us.”

Smiling and finally letting her tears fall, Padmé said, “That’s because he’s special.”

“You’re special,” Leia argued, looking up at her mom as if she was an idiot.

“I am, but so is he,” Padmé explained, lowering herself to kneel beside Anakin and the twins, “This is your father,” She said, beaming as she wrapped one arm around Anakin’s shoulder and beckoned the children forward with the other.

* * *

_epilogue_

* * *

It had been...Anakin didn’t know how long it had been since he had come home. There was no need to keep track of passing time that way, not anymore. He was certain Padmé had stopped keeping track of time in the same way, though he never did ask. Maybe he would, maybe he wouldn’t. It wasn’t a pressing matter and things like that could always wait. Especially while there were more important things to focus on, such as her hands slowly carding through his hair or the laughter of the twins from where they played nearby. Spring was just starting to become summer, so the Lake country was warm and sunny. With the days clear and the twins out of school, the family had made picnic lunches a daily habit. It had been Anakin’s suggestion, after Padmé sat down beside him one evening and let out a heavy sigh, complaining that the twins spent too much time on the holonet. She wanted them to spend more time outside and for the family to be together, as they were getting older every day. Anakin smiled at her and said that, when he wanted to get closer to her a picnic out in the nearby meadows worked like a charm. Thus, their daily routine was altered.

To Anakin, the daily picnics were the best idea he ever had, bar none. Sitting together with his children and wife, basking in the sun or swimming in the cool river and splashing in the waterfalls. No matter what they were doing, it was always perfect. Time, like it had ever since he showed up at Varykino, seemed to slow to a stop and fly past, all at once.

During one of those perfect afternoons, Anakin found himself resting with his head in Padmé’s lap. His hair had grown out since he came home, once more the shoulder length waves that Padmé said made him look dashing. Earlier, when they had first arrived in the meadow and Anakin was setting up lunch, Leia had taken it upon herself to twist braids into his hair. Each braid she finished; Luke would then adorn with different wildflowers. Both were laughing, telling their father he looked _almost_ as lovely as mommy did. After eating, the twins went off chasing each other, playing a game of their own creation but making sure to stay away from the shaaks as Padmé always warned them. Whenever they got too close, Padmé would fondly remind them of Anakin almost killing himself once when banthaplaying around them and the twins would come closer to their parents. With the twins off to their own devices, Padmé had pulled Anakin close to her. Slowly, lazily, lovingly, she raked her fingers through his hair, loosening the braids and freeing the flowers. Every now and then she would grab one of the fallen flowers and tickle his nose with it before leaning forward and pressing a kiss against his lips. Neither of them was talking, they didn’t need to. Being together, they didn’t always need words, they often knew what the other was thinking.

Although, as the sun and Padmé’s fingers warmed his face and the twins’ laughter warmed his heart, Anakin was sure his wife did not know what he was thinking. Because, being with his family, he was sure his entire life had been building up to that moment. To the freedom of being able to love and being loved in return. To the peace of mind of no longer tracking time. His entire life he had counted the passing of time, how long he had been with a master, how long until Watto would need him again, how long since he had last seen his mother, how long until he was made a knight, how long since he last saw Padmé, how long he had with Padmé, how long since Padmé died… But finally, with the sounds of his children’s laughter filling his ears and Padmé’s love for him radiating in the Force and in her touch, Anakin no longer had to count. He no longer needed to keep track of time beyond when they would leave for the picnic and when the twins should be in bed. For the first time in his life, he was at peace.

Looking up at Padmé, Anakin smiled. He could tell her all this. One day, he would. But for the moment, it was a calming, joyful secret he held close to his heart. There was time to tell her. For the first time in his life, Anakin had nothing but time.

An indignant huff from Leia, claiming, “Daddy wouldn’t do it that way!” Caught Anakin’s attention. Opening his eyes, he sat up from Padmé’s lap to look at the twins. Their game had seemed to change from chasing each other to trying different balancing stunts. Luke was doing a series of cartwheels.

“What wouldn’t daddy do that way?” Anakin asked, standing up and joining the twins. He shot Padmé an apologetic smile about having to end their moment together, but she just shook her head, eyes sparkling with joy. She understood. Just as often, it would be here going to join the twins in their antics.

“Leia says you wouldn’t cartwheel to get away from a fight! But I know you would!”

“I don’t think I ever cartwheeled,” Anakin replied, smiling at the twins. Leia let out a victorious _ha_ but the triumph faded from her face when her father shot her a look, warning her not to turn anything into a fight, “But I know Aunt Ahsoka likes to do that. I prefer somersaults.”

Luke pouted at the answer and asked, “But _can_ you do cartwheels?”

“Can I do cartwheels? Can a shaak graze? Can the Gungans swim?” Anakin said. Immediately, the twins started begging for him to show them. When he demonstrated, they started clapping and pestering him for tips on how to improve their own cartwheels. When Anakin slipped on one of his cartwheels, the twins dogpiled on him, tickling him and demanding for something more exciting. With a mischievous glint in his eyes, Anakin grinned at the twins and asked, “You want to see something more exciting?”

* * *

It had been a long time since Padmé needed to keep track of passing time. Of course, there were dates that needed to be kept and hours to mark, such as birthdays and bedtimes and school days. There was something else she needed to keep track of, usually, it was always on schedule. Once a month for about five days. But for the past two months, it hadn’t come.

Smiling to herself, Padmé watched Anakin and the twins playing. Anakin was doing a handstand and the twins were hanging off of him, each one grasping a foot. He had to be using the Force to keep them all balanced, Padmé was sure. Not that it mattered. With all three of them were laughing, loud, raucous, joyful laughter, nothing mattered. Gently, Padmé placed her palm flat against her abdomen. Already, she was picturing a third golden haired child joining the fun. In a few months, that addition to the family would join them. Padmé’s smile grew. Anakin didn’t know yet. She could only imagine his smile when he found out. But there was time for that. Time for the family, time for the baby to grow, for everything. Without another thought, Padmé rose from the picnic blanket and strode over to her family, no longer satisfied to just watch them play. It was, after all, family time.

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed, please leave a kudos or a comment. This fic is my baby and I love it deeply.


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